N.S. Nokkentved

If you are outdoors, value can be in the journey, not the destination

N.S. Nokkentved

Originally published Friday, April 5, 2002

I've been here almost a year now, and in that time I've met a lot of people, done a lot of things and seen a lot of beautiful country.

I still haven't figured out how people, in the midst of all this natural splendor, can be so busy with stuff that seems to have such little meaning -- focused only on getting there and as fast as possible.

But along the way, I've also met a few people for whom simply being outdoors was more important than what they might be doing. Some experiences stand out; mostly they involved a good bit of rain -- which, I am learning, most things do here. I guess I had forgotten that.

While writing about razor clam digging, I learned that there is much more to it than just bringing home a sackful of tasty clams -- heck, you can buy them in the store.

A big part of digging razor clams is in the digging itself -- overcoming cold, rain, wind, dark of night, to pursue the wily bivalves. It's digging furiously after a six-inch clam that can move though wet beach sand faster than most people can dig, getting soaking wet in the bargain, and then laughing about it later.

I know some people might disagree with me, but -- like a lot of other things in life -- I think they taste better if you dig them yourself and if you suffer a little to get them. It's something so intangible that if I hadn't experienced it myself, I wouldn't believe it.

It was a lot like a day I spent on the Satsop River with a fishing guide.

At the launch site, water transparent as a campaign promise rolls by. Rain drips from overhanging cedars. As we move down the fast water, a leaning alder threatens to sweep us all from the boat.

Suddenly the river disappears under a recent deadfall. The alternatives don't look good -- and there's isn't much time to decide -- wait too long and the current decides for you. We picked a shallow, bottom-scraping side channel, that required a push -- for my effort I got a boot full of cold water.

But the river opens, current roils the flat surface of the water, and naked alders line the banks, an area lighter than the forest but still not really open. We dropped anchor and ate home-smoked oysters while we waited for a dented aluminum kettle full of water, fresh from the river, to boil for some instant soup.

Though I am not an angler, and my guide didn't catch any fish, there was enough scenery, though sodden in the winter rain, enough camaraderie and enough intangibles to make it a full and satisfying day. For those hours, I managed to forget all the petty pursuits that normally take up my time. We had no destination. Being on the river was our destination.

At the time there was no place I would rather have been.

Too often, I too have lost sight of everything but the destination, missing the details that make up life. But it's all those details, including being cold, wet, tired at the end of the day, that make it all worthwhile, regardless of where I might be going.

And speaking of intangibles, that was some of the best soup I ever ate.

N.S. Nokkentved covers the outdoors for The Olympian. He would rather be outdoors, even on a rainy day, but he can be reached at 754-5445 and nnokkent@olympia.gannett.com.

The Olympian Copyright 2002

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